The days following the "Divine Touched" incident passed by in a blur for Daemon. Despite the intense pain he had experienced, he quickly discovered that he could replicate the healing effect of his magic by focusing on channeling it through his veins, a feat made incredibly easy thanks to the knowledge bestowed upon him by the Divine Touched blessing. As he recovered, his mind buzzed with thousands of ideas on how to put his newfound knowledge of runes, rituals, and blood magic into action.

One of the most significant realizations Daemon had was that the combination of his "Magical" and "Blood Mage" blessings, along with the "Mystic" talent, had altered his blood, making it so potent that most rituals would require only a few drops to power them, rather than the dozens of living sacrifices typically needed. This discovery brought him immense relief, as it would significantly simplify his life and reduce the moral burden of his magical practices.

After two days of reluctant observation, Maester Pycelle finally allowed Daemon to leave his care. Wasting no time, Daemon immediately sought out the room beside the Black Cells where his and his father's belongings had been stored during their imprisonment. He was surprised to find that while Jon Arryn had taken care of his father's body, he had apparently forgotten about their possessions or perhaps assumed that Daemon wouldn't inquire about them. Regardless, Daemon was grateful to recover his belongings, among which he found a Pack of Holding that he had chosen in the CYOA, filled with an assortment of magical gear he had selected when completing the questionnaire.

As he rummaged through the contents of the Pack of Holding, Daemon realized that most of the items were semi-useful at best, but his previous self had chosen them for their study potential. If he could replicate some of the magical effects imbued in these objects, he would become nearly unstoppable on the battlefield, and his life outside of combat would be significantly more comfortable.

Daemon trudged through the wrecked streets of King's Landing, the stink of burnt wood and rotting flesh filling his nose. The Lannisters had really done a number on the place, and finding a halfway decent place to crash was a real pain in the ass. He tried seedy inns and knocked on doors of houses that were barely standing, but no luck. As he searched, a pang of guilt hit him hard, remembering how he'd been so hell-bent on getting back at the Mad King that he'd let Elia and her kids die. But he shook it off, telling himself he'd been out of his mind after being cooped up in the dark for months, starving and thirsty as hell. It was a fucking miracle he'd managed to off the bastard at all.

Finally, he found a place to lay his head and got to work meeting the ragtag bunch Jon Arryn had rounded up to help him build his new digs at Vernor Valley. They met in dive bars and shady alleys, and Daemon sized them up quick. They were rough around the edges, with more scars than brains, but beggars can't be choosers. He'd make it work.

Word of his plans spread like wildfire through the city, and soon Daemon had more people knocking on his door than he knew what to do with. Widows, orphans, farmers, you name it - they all wanted a piece of the action, a shot at starting over in a new place, far from the mess that was King's Landing. Daemon was blown away by the power of his own reputation, how being the Kingslayer and having a pretty face could make people so eager to follow his lead. He handpicked the strongest, most capable men to join his team, knowing they'd be the ones to get the job done.

But as the numbers kept growing, Daemon realized the original plan to ship everyone to Gulltown was a no-go. He raced back to the Red Keep, his cloak billowing behind him as he navigated the winding halls. He managed to get into a meeting with Jon Arryn, talking a mile a minute about his new idea - a land caravan, complete with guards and supplies, that would pick up smallfolk who'd lost everything in the Riverlands along the way.

Jon Arryn stroked his beard, mulling it over. "Alright," he said at last, "Seems reasonable enough, I'll give you what you need. But remember, Daemon, these people are your responsibility now. Their lives are in your hands and should word spread of you mismanaging your new lands, I can easily have it reverted back into my family's hands."

—ViV—

A month flew by, and Daemon was busting his butt every day to get the caravan ready. He even managed to get some merchants to tag along, though most would split off at different points to get where they needed to go. Only a few were curious enough to stick with the caravan 'til the end, and he figured they'd probably bail once they hit Strongsong. He woke up early, just before the sun peeked over the horizon, and started double-checking all the important stuff he'd packed in his trusty Pack of Holding. Once he was happy with everything, he pulled out the Compass and Self-Filling Map he'd snagged from the CYOA. The compass would point him to anything he wanted, or just north if he didn't have anything specific in mind. The map was pretty self-explanatory - it showed all the details of the area around him, and he could zoom in and out, highlight important spots, and he was the only one who could actually see it. Anyone else would just see a plain old map of Westeros.

Suddenly, a knock at the door pulled Daemon from his thoughts. "My Lord, are you ready to depart?" a gentle, feminine voice called out.

Daemon opened the door to reveal Joella, a slender blonde woman with hazel eyes that shimmered with devotion. She wore a simple, yet well-maintained dress, a far cry from the tattered rags he'd found her in when he'd rescued her from a burnt-out house during the Lannister sack. The soldiers had left her broken and near death, but Daemon had used his own blood in a ritual to heal her completely. Since then, she'd followed him like a shadow, hanging on his every word as if he were the Avatar of the Seven Gods.

"Joella, good morning," Daemon greeted her with a nod. "I'm just about ready. Did you manage to gather the supplies I asked for?"

"Yes, my Lord," she replied eagerly, her hands clasped in front of her. "Everything is prepared and awaiting your inspection."

Daemon couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. Every Lord needed a loyal follower, and Joella's unwavering faith in him was a valuable asset. He'd given her the position of his Secretary, taking the time to explain the role and its responsibilities. She'd accepted the job with fervor, determined to prove her worth to the man she saw as her savior.

"Excellent work, Joella," Daemon praised, watching a blush creep across her cheeks at the compliment. "I knew I could count on you. Walk with me, and let's go over the final preparations before we set out."

As they made their way through the bustling encampment, Daemon couldn't help but notice the way Joella's eyes darted to him every few seconds, as if seeking his approval. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, feeling her tense slightly at the contact before relaxing into his touch.

"You've done well, Joella," he said softly. "I'm glad to have you by my side as we begin this journey."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, my Lord," she whispered. "I won't let you down."

Daemon couldn't shake the feeling that her devotion ran deeper than mere gratitude for saving her life. 'This is far more than I expected from just healing her wounds. What's going on here?' he questioned himself.

Curious, he turned to her and asked, "Joella, how have you been feeling since I healed you? Have you noticed any changes?"

She looked at him with wide, adoring eyes. "Oh, my Lord, I've never felt more alive! It's as if you've not only mended my physical wounds but also healed my very soul."

"Your soul?" Daemon repeated, his confusion growing. 'What in the Seven Hells does she mean by that?' he wondered silently.

Joella clasped her hands together, her voice trembling with emotion. "It's hard to put into words, m'lord, but I feel complete for the first time in my life. Like I've found my true purpose, and it's to follow you, to serve you, to be by your side through anything and everything."

Daemon's eyebrows shot up, his mind reeling. "That's quite a declaration, Joella. And what exactly do you mean by following me?"

Her eyes shone with a fanatical gleam as she replied, "Wherever you go, m'lord, I will follow. To the ends of the earth, to the Seven Hells and back. I am yours, body and soul, to command as you see fit."

Daemon took a step back, his confusion giving way to a growing sense of unease. "Joella, I... appreciate your loyalty, but you must understand that you are my servant, nothing more. I expect you to fulfill your duties, but let's not get carried away here."

Joella merely smiled, seemingly unfazed by his words. "Of course, m'lord. I live to serve you, in whatever capacity you desire."

'Seven save me, what have I gotten myself into?' Daemon thought as they continued their walk through the encampment. 'Her devotion is bordering on obsession. I'll need to keep a close eye on this and make sure it doesn't spiral out of control.'

Daemon turned to Joella, his mind still reeling from her crazy devotion. "Joella, can you go check with the others and make sure they're ready to hit the road? I got a few last-minute things to take care of before we head out."

Joella bowed her head, a smile of pure adoration on her face. "At once, m'lord. Your wish is my command." She hurried off, eager to fulfill his request.

The second she was gone, Daemon whipped out a small, leather notebook from his pocket. He flipped to a blank page and started scribbling, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

'Observations on the ritual performed on Joella:

- Subject exhibits extreme, almost fanatical loyalty following the ritual, far exceeding initial expectations.

- Potency of my blood likely amplified all aspects of the ritual, enhancing both healing and loyalty-inducing properties.

- Further testing with additional subjects necessary to fully understand ritual's effects and potential applications.

- Considering performing ritual on select individuals for inner circle. Unwaveringly loyal allies could prove invaluable.

- Concerns: Will this blind loyalty impact their ability to make sound, reasonable decisions? Does it come at the cost of reduced intellectual capacity? Doesn't strike me so, but more observation is necessary.

- Close monitoring of Joella's behavior crucial to assess long-term effects and ensure her devotion doesn't become a liability.

- Must be cautious not to become overly reliant on ritual for securing loyalty. Limited opportunities to put some through a similar ritual.

- Conclusion: Ritual's effects on Joella intriguing and potentially valuable, but further study and careful consideration necessary before widespread use. Power to inspire profound loyalty must be wielded with caution. Or maybe not?'

Daemon paused, tapping his quill against the page as he contemplated his observations. The implications of the ritual were both fascinating and troubling, and he knew he would need to proceed with caution and discernment in exploring its potential further.

With a sigh, he closed the notebook and tucked it back into his pocket, 'I have bigger worries at the moment, like how to get everyone to my new lands in safety.'

Daemon finished packing his belongings and strapped his Pack of Holding securely to his back. As he opened the door, he nearly collided with a man clad in bronze armor who had his hand raised, poised to knock. The man managed to step back at the last moment, narrowly avoiding a headbutt.

"Well, hello to you too, Daemon," the man chuckled, a grin spreading across his face. "I know I'm irresistible, but I prefer the fair maidens."

Daemon busted out laughing. "In your dreams, Andar. Fuck you very much."

'I'll have to thank Jon Arryn for convincing Andar Royce, the heir of Runestone, to join my caravan,' Daemon thought to himself. 'Having someone close to my age, with a good sense of humor and exceptional skill with a sword, will make this journey more enjoyable. And I can definitely learn a thing or two from him about ruling lands.'

Andar leaned against the doorframe, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "So, I just bumped into Joella, and she was running around like her ass was on fire. You didn't try any funny business with her, did you?"

Daemon snorted, rolling his eyes. "Of course not. Joella just has a tendency to treat any request from me as if it were a mission of the utmost importance, handed down by the Seven themselves."

Andar raised an eyebrow. "One of these days, you're going to have to tell me what you did to inspire such dedication. Saving her life couldn't possibly be the only reason."

Daemon chuckled, a sly grin on his face. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

'And I probably would,' Daemon thought, only half-joking.

Andar shrugged, accepting the non-answer. "Fair enough. Anyway, everything is ready to go. Everyone's eager to hit the Kingsroad and make the most of the daylight."

Daemon nodded, his demeanor shifting to one of determination. "Excellent. Let's not keep them waiting any longer."

Andar and Daemon headed towards the Dragon Gate, the closest to the Kingsroad, bantering all the way.

Near the gate, they saw the leaders of the different groups in the expedition chatting in small groups. Andar spotted Joella first, waving at them from the side where Daemon's smallfolk settlers were waiting. It was clear they were the poorest bunch, and the only reason they even had shoes was because Daemon convinced some merchants to pay for them, since he was bringing Arryn and Royce soldiers along.

"Looks like your number one sycophant is trying to get your attention," Andar joked, elbowing Daemon and pointing at Joella.

Daemon laughed, waving back at her. "She's just pumped for the trip, that's all."

As they got closer to the gate, Daemon felt proud of how he got the merchants to help out his settlers.

Andar smirked, "Nice job getting the merchants to pitch in for shoes and basics for your people. How'd you manage that?"

Daemon shrugged, a sly grin on his face. "I just pointed out the obvious. If the smallfolk don't have shoes or get too tired, they'll walk slower, and the whole caravan will take way longer to reach our destination. Plus, I reminded them they're already saving a ton on security since our Arryn and Royce soldiers are handling that."

Andar chuckled, shaking his head. "Clever bastard. You've got a way with words, Daemon."

Daemon winked. "It's a gift."

As Andar and Daemon approached the gathering, the leaders of the various groups noticed their arrival. Joella, who had been eagerly waiting for Daemon, immediately stepped behind him, her eyes filled with admiration and loyalty.

A soldier wearing the colors of House Royce approached Andar and Daemon, bowing his head respectfully. "My lords," he addressed them, "the last headcount puts the number of smallfolk close to a thousand. We have roughly 100 soldiers, which should be sufficient for a caravan of this size."

Daemon nodded, taking in the information. "What about the merchant groups? Do you have a headcount for them as well?"

The soldier shook his head, a slight frown on his face. "I'm afraid not, my lord. The number of merchants using this opportunity to relocate to other cities after the sack is too great. Whenever we try to count them, more arrive and mess up the count. However, I roughly estimate there to be between 700 and 800 merchants."

Andar whistled, impressed by the sheer number of people joining their expedition. Daemon, on the other hand, blanched at the news. "Will we be able to provide security for everyone?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

The soldier paused for a moment, mulling over the question. "We can spread ourselves out to cover most people," he replied thoughtfully. "Luckily, some of the merchants are traveling with their own escorts, which should help ease the burden on our forces."

Andar slapped Daemon's shoulder, a reassuring grin on his face. "Relax, Daemon. The sheer size of our group would make any bandit think thrice before attempting anything."

Daemon sighed, shaking his head. "It's not the bandits that worry me."

Andar raised an eyebrow, curious. "Then what is it?"

"Once we get close to the Vale through the Kingsroad, the Mountain Clans could try to get us," Daemon explained, his expression grim.

Andar scoffed, a mischievous glint in his eye. "The Mountain Clans? With their rags they call armor and their rusted swords? Come on, Daemon, you can't be serious."

Daemon fixed Andar with a deadpan stare. "Mock them all you want, Andar, but the Mountain Clans have been a thorn in the Vale's side for thousands of years. If countless generations of Arryns and Targaryens couldn't put an end to their threat, they must be doing something right."

He turned to the soldier. "Is there anything we can do to increase alertness to ambushes when we get close to the Vale?"

The soldier thought for a moment before responding. "We can increase the number of lookouts during the night one we get close to the Vale, my lord. However, that will reduce the number of soldiers battle-ready during the day, as those who had shifts during the night will be too tired to remain alert."

Daemon considered the options for a few seconds before making his decision. "Do it," he commanded.

The soldier bowed, acknowledging the order. "As you command, my lord."

Andar, however, remained unconvinced. "I still think you're overreacting, Daemon. The Mountain Clans aren't that much of a threat."

Daemon sighed, a sense of unease washing over him. "I just have a bad feeling about it, Andar."

Andar grinned. "Should we change your moniker from Kingslayer to Seer, then?"

Daemon scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Go fuck yourself, Andar."

Andar laughed heartily, his voice filled with mirth. "You know what? Great idea, I'll try to see if there are any whores following the caravan. They can join me in my tent at night."

Daemon shook his head, exasperated by Andar's antics.